


On a rooftop in Bed-Stuy

by thetimesinbetween



Series: On a rooftop in Bed-Stuy [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blend of MCU Hawkeye and Matt Fraction Hawkeye, Closeted Character, Coming Out, F/F, Instagram, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slice of Life, Social Media, brief mention that rape exists (no rape or history of rape), fandom features in the fic, post-CACW AU, that feel when you're still in the middle of creating your chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimesinbetween/pseuds/thetimesinbetween
Summary: Steve and Bucky have settled more or less quietly into a two-bedroom apartment in Bed-Stuy. Clint invites them to a rooftop barbecue at his place...which is apparently two blocks over.A few years post-CACW AU.





	On a rooftop in Bed-Stuy

When Clint invites them over for the first time, Steve and Bucky jump at the chance. Clint is notoriously reticent about where he lives. There was a joke for a while that he lived in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, which he was suspiciously enthusiastic about encouraging. But it became clear pretty quickly that that was a fabrication—he turned up just as quick as the rest of them in a true emergency. 

But the point stands that Clint never gives a hint about where he lives, so Steve is surprised and pleased when he’s invited over for a summer barbecue.

“Bring lemonade,” Clint says. The phone is staticky. Steve wonders if he’s on a mission for Fury or Nat, distracting himself during some long wait by party planning. Odd tactic. Then again, Clint is an odd fellow.

“Sure,” Steve says easily, raising his eyebrows at Bucky, who’s looked up from messing with the cat, clearly just as surprised as Steve.

“No, I mean, bring real lemonade. And something to spike it with,” Clint says.

“All right,” Steve says.

“Listen, Nat will be there. Whatever the hell you’re supposed to spike lemonade with, bring the nicest version of that,” Clint continues through static.

Bucky vaults over the back of the couch Steve’s leaning on with noticeable grace. Takes the phone out of Steve’s hand.

“We’re on it, Barton,” he says. 

“Barnes!” Clint replies. “All right.” He sounds relieved. “See you Saturday—Nat’ll come pick you up.”

Raised eyebrows exchanged again. No address, nothing? Nat may well show up in a damn quinjet.

Well, if that’s how he wants to play it, that’s how they’ll play it.

“All right, Barton,” Bucky says, finally, warm and amused. He ends the call and tosses Steve’s phone casually onto the couch. Yanks Steve in by the belt loops.

“Ready to meet the neighbors, Mrs. Barnes?”

Steve snorts and shoves at Bucky’s chest, just enough to make him rock back. Bucky’s not fooled, though. He sees the deep red flush all over Steve’s cheeks, down his throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, and reels him back in. They kiss until the cat scampers over and yowls for Bucky’s attention.

* * *

“Wow,” Natasha intones when she arrives the next day. “You really did a number on him, Barnes.”

“I—” Steve starts.

“Gotta keep ‘em satisfied, Romanov,” Bucky replies over Steve, all casual, gathering up keys, wallet, the canvas bag packed with fresh lemonade and all the liquor they’re going to put in it. “Otherwise you never know where he’ll go looking for his kicks.” He gives the cat a last fond scratch.

Steve pauses with his mouth open, then sighs. “I resent this line of conversation.”

Natasha laughs—really laughs, a little pink coming into her cheeks, even. She stands on tiptoe and kisses Steve’s cheek, then Bucky’s. “Of course you do, Rogers,” she says, turning to go.

Bucky kisses just under Steve’s jaw, where he very well knows Steve likes to be kissed, then his cheek, then, quickly, his mouth. “Still feelin’ resentful, darlin’?” he murmurs.

“Yes, I damn well am,” Steve replies, but then he’s rolling his eyes, tossing a cat treat across the room to get her out from between Bucky’s legs, and getting them all out the door.

“You’re a real piece of work,” he says, purposely knocking into Bucky as they near the stairs.

“Fine piece of work,” Bucky replies, taking the stairs two at a time. “Near-mint condition. Aged as well as goddamn wine—“

“Whaddaya call this, then, huh?” Steve replies, jostling Bucky’s left arm. “Gotta dock a coupla cents for missing parts. Not even a matching replacement—“

“Didn’t hear you complaining about my color scheme last night.”

“I really had you all wrong, Rogers,” Natasha says. “You might seem like a delicate flower, but get you in a group of trash-talking twelve-year-old boys, and you’re golden.”

Bucky cracks up. “Do you know, he somehow failed to mention all that.”

“Oh god,” Steve mutters. He opens the building door to let everybody out, and glances back to be sure it latches shut. Natasha heads East—maybe they’ll get on the shuttle?

“You mean, that tidbit about how he can’t handle anybody mentioning sex, or even kissing—“

Bucky is laughing so hard as to make hearing Natasha difficult.

“— _kissing_ , leading me to worry he’d made it to ninety-five without ever having touched another human being.”

“You were just worried you took my first kiss,” Steve jumps in, quite obviously trying to divert.

Natasha rolls her eyes, but Steve has snagged Bucky’s attention.

“That’s more than a tidbit,” Bucky says. He reaches behind Steve and pinches Natasha’s bicep; she scowls exaggeratedly. “A kiss?”

Natasha socks Bucky in the flesh arm, hard, drawing him a couple odd looks from the teenagers jaywalking the other way.

“Sure, a kiss,” she drawls. “What’s it to you, James?”

“Well, y’see,” Bucky begins, and Natasha’s already rolling her eyes, because that’s about as thick of a Brooklyn accent as she’s ever heard out of either of their mouths, which is saying something.

“— _Y’see_ , I’ve had a claim on this old broad since he was a spittin’-mad six-year-old. He ain’t ever kissed a soul without me giving my goddamn blessing, so by your leave—“

“That’s not even—Buck, I kissed some women you never even met, and there was Peggy, it’s not like—“

Bucky scoffs. “As if I hadn’t given you blanket permission to go after any woman who’d have you, once I shipped out.”

Natasha gives a sharp whistle, and the two of them wheel around.

“If you need a minute to iron out your marital difficulties, I’m sure Clint won’t mind,” she smirks. She’s propping open a door with her heel, keys dangling from one hand. It’s a sturdy door, vertical security bars painted and re-painted black, opens right onto the sidewalk, no steps, no keypad, nothing. Nondescript brick building. Steve’s walked past it about a million times.

“Here?” Steve asks dumbly, following her inside. “Clint lives here?”

“Well, he’s up on the sixth floor,” Natasha replies. She’s halfway up the first flight of stairs, not facing them, but amusement is all over her voice.

“Natasha, this is about a block and a half from our place,” Steve prods.

“Yeah, at first he thought you were moving to Bed Stuy to keep an eye on him.”

“He—what?”

“It was right after he broke his femur and checked himself out of the hospital about five hours after surgery. I’d have given you my blessing, frankly.”

“But it turns out that Steve didn’t have a damn clue because he’s shit at surveillance,” Bucky guesses. “Which I coulda told you, saved you some grief.”

Natasha pauses. Turns a little toward them on the sixth floor landing. “Yes,” she replies, matter-of-fact. “It’s nice when you’re around, James.”

BAM

Steve tenses, automatically shifts his shoulder in front of Bucky’s—but it was just the door to 6B slamming open. Steve’s heart rate evens out as three kids spill from the apartment, followed by a woman holding a big steaming glass tray, an oven mitt over one hand and a dish towel over the other.

“Natalie!” The woman smiles, nudging the door shut behind her. “Here for the barbecue?”

“Of course,” Natasha replies. “Brought a couple of your neighbors too—Steve and James.”

“We’re right over on Fulton,” Steve says. “Good to meet you.”

“Pilar,” she replies with friendly nod. “I’d shake your hand, but—“

“Can we help with anything?” Steve asks.

“No, this all’s the last of it,” she says.

They go up the last set of stairs and emerge onto your standard Brooklyn rooftop: stark, grey, with a thigh-high brick wall halfheartedly enclosing the space. About a third of the roof is occupied by humming air conditioners, but the rest is full of what must be the entire building’s population and about half the rest of the street. There’s a grill going, pop radio on, a whole table full of snacks and drinks and burger fixings off to one side. Steve hears Bucky give a contented little hum just behind him.

“Let’s go set up the lemonade,” Steve murmurs, and together he and Bucky make their way over to the snack table. They brought a bunch of stuff that Steve finds pretty fiddly for a rooftop party—fresh lemonade (easy to make when you’ve got two supersoldiers on hand, even if you don’t own a juicer), some very nice bourbon, club soda, orange slices, and fresh mint.

“This’ll be up to Nat’s standards, huh? Because you learned this in Russia?”

“Lemonade was essential to Hydra’s daily functioning,” Bucky monotones at him. Steve knows it’s a joke, but—he really can’t laugh about it, so he concentrates on clearing a little space on the sagging plastic table.

Then, “No, darlin’, I haven’t had lemonade since your own damn mother made it for us. I just asked the Internet what folks do these days.”

Steve grumbles, “Why Clint thinks I can’t use Google—“

“—Use Google _up to Natasha’s standards_ —“ 

“On your left,” comes Sam’s familiar voice.

Steve whips around, his whole face breaking into a grin. “You’re never gonna get sick of that, huh,” he says, hauling Sam into a hug. "Didn't know Clint asked you over too."

“Geez, Rogers, let the guy breathe. Acting like you didn’t see him about five days ago.” Bucky’s scowling. But he shakes Sam’s hand and, when Sam raises his eyebrows, rolls his eyes and hugs him too.

“Yeah, yeah, I hate you too,” Sam says in his ear. Bucky has a strong urge to toss him off the roof, but Sam doesn’t have his wings on.

“Get outta here, Wilson,” Bucky drawls, shoving lightly at him. “Don’t you have somebody else to flirt with?”

Steve blushes. He tries to blush very quietly and subtly, but he fails.

“Somebody other than two goddamn—“ Sam lowers his voice “—supersoldiers? Who else you think I’m gonna find on this rooftop? Miss America?”

Bucky slings arm around Steve’s shoulders. “See, Rogers, this right here is why I gotta give you permission.”

Steve is beyond grateful to be saved from replying. Natasha breaks into their little triad, accompanied by Clint and—to Steve’s surprise and delight—

“Wanda!” 

She smiles, slowly, and lets him hug her.

“What’m I, chopped liver?” Clint protests. “Man hosts a party and—“ but he’s cut off by Steve clapping him hard on the back.

“It’s good to see you. _Neighbor_.”

Clint scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah, well. You’re the one who moved in and didn’t notice the arrow sticking outta my satellite dish.”

Bucky rolls his whole head over to exchange exasperated looks with Natasha.

“Well, excuse me for being a little distracted when I first got here,” Steve replies, in the same pushy, light tone, before realizing what’s come out of his mouth. The side of Bucky’s body has gone tense against his, and his arm is stiff around Steve’s shoulders.

Well. Too late to take that back.

“Hold that thought. I have news.” Wanda steps up when she’s needed, always does. She’s a good cookie, that girl. “I’m getting my GED.”

Sam recovers first: of course he does. “That’s—wow, Wanda,” Sam replies, warm. “How long’ve you been working on it?”

“A while. I should finish up midsummer. End of June.”

Bucky’s not relaxing, but he hasn’t pulled away, gone to get himself a drink, gone to take a piss, nothing. Steve slings his own arm around Bucky’s shoulders and squeezes him in against his side, hard. It would be good to—times like this he—well. Steve’d like to just kiss Bucky a little, get him out of his head for a minute. Bucky’s always been a physical guy, susceptible to that sort of thing. It can’t happen here, though. Luckily Steve has a couple decades’ practice at resisting the urge to love on Bucky in public. 

It seems to be all right, anyhow. Bucky is loosening up, even leaning a little into Steve.

“—And then Clint said, well, why not just stay with him, there’s a place open in his building—“

“Wait, you’re _also_ our neighbor?” Steve cuts in.

Wanda shrugs expressively. “One time you walked right past me at Outpost.”

Bucky and Natasha are fixing him with very, very judgmental looks.

“To be fair,” Sam says, expansively, “she is the most hipster superhero I’ve ever seen. Not like she stands out, this neighborhood.”

Wanda can’t quite suppress her smile. She’s in fitted jeans, a distressed crop top, and a big dull green military-style jacket. Steve couldn’t begin to describe her elaborate rings.

“I do my best,” she says.

“Your best is both very well suited to you and excellent for blending in with your environment,” Natasha says, with that twitch of a smile that means she approves.

Just then, a young woman with blue hair scoots past Wanda into their little circle to grab the mustard. She double-takes at Bucky—uh oh, here it comes, Steve thinks, and sees the same thought pass over Bucky’s face.

“That your lemonade?” the woman asks.

Steve deflates, relieved. Clint, Natasha, and Sam melt away into another group. Natasha’s well aware that a couple people in Clint’s building know who he is and have deduced who she is—Clint is, of course, in denial—but still. Better not to line themselves up and give everybody and their brother the perfect chance to put it all together. And broadcast that Captain America and the Winter Soldier live a block away, while they’re at it.

“Yeah, how is it?” Bucky replies. “This idiot thinks it’s too fancy.” He shakes Steve a little with the arm still draped over him.

“It’s fucking incredible,” the woman replies, passionately. She offers Wanda her cup, but Wanda wrinkles her nose. “I would never spend four-fifty or whatever to get fresh mint, mind you—“

“Thank you,” Steve interjects.

“—but honestly I’m glad somebody is willing to drop the money for it,” she finishes.

“ _Thank_ you,” Bucky repeats pointedly, shooting Steve a sidelong glance.

“I’m Ester,” the woman says, juggling her plate and cup to get a hand free.

“I’m Steve, and this is James.” They shake. Ester’s got odd calluses. Or maybe they’re normal and Steve is just too used to gun calluses. 

“Haven’t seen you around, how long you been on the block?” Ester asks, taking a big bite of her black bean burger. “Wanda’s only been here a year—“ she’s teasing; Wanda rolls her eyes “but I’m a veteran. So if y’all need the tour….”

“Oh—um,” Steve starts. 

“We actually know one another,” Wanda jumps in. “Steve was one of my instructors upstate.”

“Oh! Sorry, babe, didn’t realize,” Ester replies. “You just end up in the same neighborhood by chance, or…?”

“Yeah, actually. Had no idea Wanda lived around the corner until a coupla minutes ago,” Steve laughs. “We’ve lived over on Fulton for about a year now.” 

“You’ve got the lay of the land, then,” Ester replies, nodding approvingly. “You going to Bed Stuy Pride? I’m looking for buddies.”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look. _You got any idea what she’s talking about? No, me either._

“Haven’t decided yet,” Bucky says. “Not sure it’s really our scene.” That should do it.

Ester sighs. “Fair enough. If I could just convince this one—“ she hip checks Wanda “—it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Wanda smiles. “Can you get my exam date moved?”

“Nope.”

“Then, next year,” Wanda replies.

Ester face breaks into a slow smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” she says, softly, and leans forward and kisses Wanda full on the mouth, in front of God and everybody. Steve averts his eyes politely, heart pounding. “All right, I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. Good to meetcha, Steve-and-James-on-Fulton. Have fun catching up, babe.”

“I will,” Wanda replies. She turns back to Steve and Bucky with a sweet smile, but it melts off her face when she sees their expressions. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all,” Steve says quickly. For God's sake, he's seen men kissing men and women kissing women often enough in this new century—there were two times it was even out in the open like this. He needs to stop having a goddamn heart attack every time.

Bucky squeezes his shoulder. Punk sounds choked up. Always did have more heart than he knew what to do with.

Wanda doesn’t look reassured. She has clearly remembered that, notwithstanding Steve’s StarkTech watch and Bucky’s bogglingly modern haircut, they grew up in the twenties and thirties.

Bucky steps in closer. “We’re just startled, kid,” he says quietly. “We coulda gotten arrested or worse for that, back in the day.”

Wanda’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Her eyes flick between them.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He rubs Steve’s shoulder with his thumb.

Steve ducks his head. He feels jumpy. Like he’s in somebody’s sights. He’d like to get out of the open air.

“That explains _quite a lot_ ,” Wanda adds pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Steve. Steve can’t look at her.

Bucky snorts, sparing Steve a glance. “I bet.”

“I thought you knew,” Steve finally says. “After—you know.” Wanda looks nonplussed. “I mean, you’ve been in my head.”

Wanda frowns. “It’s not like I took a tour. I did it for a very specific reason. And I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Bucky drawls.

“I wouldn’t touch your head with a ten-foot pole,” Wanda replies. She reconsiders: “Well. Not unless you asked nicely.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No problem.”

Clint saunters up and ruffles Wanda’s hair. She scowls but doesn’t actually vaporize the slice of pizza he’s holding, so there’s that.

Clint grins. “Everything good over here? Mom approve of the girlfriend?”

“I don’t need anybody’s approval,” Wanda replies.

“Spoken like a true teenager,” Clint says, slinging an arm around her shoulders. He gives Steve and Bucky an once-over. “Yep, look at that approval. Good job, Wanda.”

“Who’s Mom?” asks Steve.

“You,” Clint and Wanda reply in unison.

“Natasha is Dad,” Wanda adds.

“First the kiss, now this,” Bucky mutters, cranky as hell. Steve snorts and hip-checks him.

“I’m the crazy uncle,” Clint continues. “We thought Sam was the responsible older brother, but then he named his drone and started talking to it, so now it’s anybody’s guess.”

Bucky’s laughing quietly into Steve’s shoulder.

“I do like Ester,” Steve says, trying to maintain just a smidge of dignity. “She seems like a good kid.”

“Well, I hate to break up the family reunion, but everybody’s been asking how I know that sweet couple over on Fulton who brought the awesome lemonade. You may want to make the rounds before I tell them we’re in a vigilante group together.”

Steve tips his head back and mumbles something. Only Bucky catches it: God give me strength. They don’t go to church anymore, but the little things carry over.

“We’ll go make nice,” Bucky assures Clint. God knows he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout if the party figures out who he and Steve are.

Bucky’s not in hiding anymore. Steve, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Scott had spent a year and a half exiled in Wakanda under T’Challa’s protection, but then—well, Tony’d finally given them a call. Turns out, if you help save the world, and the battle is broadcast on every channel for thirty-six straight hours, that’s pretty decent leverage when it comes time to negotiate for clemency. Doesn’t hurt that Steve’s on his fourth or fifth go-round of saving the world, either. 

Of course, after the U.S. had let Steve and co. back into the country, after Steve and Nat had worked out an under-the-table deal to keep Bucky free, Bucky’d had a whole show trial, and a show granting of clemency—fucking media feeding frenzy is what is was—so now everybody and their damn brother has got an opinion about exactly how many decades of torture and brainwashing somebody should be able to endure before becoming a mass-murdering cyborg.

He wasn’t exactly eager to resurface and join society after that clusterfuck. Not even for Steve’s sake. Not right away. 

So, Bucky’s not _in hiding_ per se, but—he sighs—it’s not like anybody’s happy to see the Winter Soldier. If anybody realizes who he is, he and Steve would have to leave before the party is over. They’d probably have to move, and Bucky really likes this neighborhood. There are multiple dollar stores within a two-block radius, which is as the Lord intended. The A/C and the shuttle are close. Two separate bodega cats are in love with him. He and Steve live directly above a coffee shop where he can wear eyeliner and leggings, if that’s the mood he’s damn well in, and nobody gives him a second look. 

The coffee shop also serves alcohol.

This is just the stuff he’s coming up with off the top of his head.

Yeah, they’re definitely not leaving this neighborhood.

“Hold my hand, Rogers,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Steve says.

“We gotta go make nice. We’re that sweet couple over on Fulton.”

“…I wouldn’t call us sweet, Buck.”

There’s the sparring practice, and the loud midnight panic attacks, and Bucky’s tendency to drop silently into the back patio from three stories above. Plus literally everybody who doesn’t have a supersoldier immune system is deathly allergic to the cat. Bucky considers the cat a legitimate component of their home defense strategy.

“You mean ‘James,’” Bucky says. “We need a cover. Now we have a cover. We’re the nice couple on Fulton.”

“But…we actually are a couple, and we actually do live on Fulton.”

“Steve, I wake up every morning in our bed with your ass grinding on my dick, I damn well know what we are and where we live.”

Steve has no trouble grinding up on Bucky in his damn sleep, but god forbid Bucky mention it: Steve is bright red. “Right,” he says.

“But see, Captain America and the Winter goddamn Soldier do not hold hands and bring homemade lemonade to a roof party.”

Steve’s fingers slide through his.

Finally. “There you go, Mrs. Barnes.”

Steve’s breath catches; then he scowls. “Drop the name, James. That’ll kill our cover as well as anything else.”

“Yeah. That’s the only reason you don’t want me using that name outside the bedroom.”

The blush rushes back to Steve’s cheeks. “Christ’s sake, B—James.”

Bucky leans in, slowly, and kisses Steve’s hot cheek. “All right, darlin’,” he says in Steve’s ear. “All right. I won’t tease. We don’t wanna scandalize the neighbors.”

* * *

The party finally winds down around midnight, but Steve and Bucky stick around to help clean up, and before they know it, it’s 2 a.m. and they’re wolfing down cold pizza in Clint’s apartment. Natasha is eyeing them with a deeply skeptical expression. Sam and Wanda are blessedly disinterested.

“Super soldier metabolism,” Steve says defensively.

“’s brutal,” Bucky says through a mouthful of pizza.

“They do literally have a mini fridge next to the bed,” Sam says.

“Yeah, but what’s Barton’s excuse?” Nat says.

Clint freezes in the act of stuffing a folded slice into his mouth whole. “I feel attacked. In my own home.”

Wanda stifles a snort, and they all look over at her, but she’s got her nose in her phone, flicking through something. She glances up at the attention. “Oh, it’s—I didn’t see the Mickey Mouse hamburger until now.”

“…Come again?” Clint replies.

“You know Mickey Mouse pancakes?” Sam and Clint nod. Everybody else looks lost. “It’s just like—pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. It’s only ever pancakes. But Gil made a Mickey Mouse hamburger for Junior earlier.” She tosses her phone to Clint.

“That…is incredible,” Clint says slowly. He comes over the couch so everybody else can see. “Fucking—artistry.” He's overcome.

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Sam laughs. “It’s a small roof; how did I miss that?”

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says, staring at the pictures. It’s just three intersecting circles of juicy meat.

Nat reaches over Clint’s shoulder to flick through more pictures. There’s one with their mint lemonade in the foreground and a bunch of colored lights all blurred out in the back. “I think that looks even better than it actually tasted,” Steve says.

There’s another one of a kid—Pilar’s oldest boy, Steve remembers—trying to fit the whole Mickey Mouse hamburger in his mouth at once, with Gil laughing in the background. One of the whole crowd—Steve picks out Sam and Clint and the back of Natasha’s head. One of a family Steve doesn’t recognize, and one of Pilar holding her conked-out youngest in one hand and a hot dog in the other. One of just Wanda and Ester perched on the rooftop wall, Wanda kissing her cheek, both of them grinning.

“Ester Instagrams everything,” Wanda says with a touch of embarrassment. 

“It’s sweet,” Sam reassures her, and then Natasha flicks to the next picture.

It’s Steve and Bucky, crowd a blur around them. Their arms are around one another’s shoulders, Bucky leaning into Steve, speaking into his ear—his nose tucked up behind the shell of Steve’s ear, his mouth right at the point of Steve’s jaw. Bucky’s got a little smile that curls his lips like sin. Steve’s clearly blushing all the way down his shirt.

The caption reads “#queertakeover of my neighborhood continues apace <3”

Steve’s heart drops to his stomach. He’s also—a little heated up. It’s a good picture. He’s never seen a picture of them like that.

Bucky notices, because of fucking course he notices. Steve can feel his attention warm and prickling all along his side. 

That only heats him up more, god damn him.

“ _Well_ ,” Sam finally says.

“Can we—do we need to—take it down?” Steve asks.

“That depends,” Natasha says slowly. “Wanda, how many followers does Ester have?”

“About twenty,” Wanda replies. “She has a professional Instagram that’s public—that has several thousand followers. But this is on her private one. It’s locked.”

“Then no,” Natasha says, twisting around to get a look at Steve’s face. “On a small, private account, with a caption that doesn’t ID either of you—it would cause more problems if we disappeared it. Ester would notice. Might make noise. But if we leave it….” she shrugs. “Probably nothing.”

Bucky makes a skeptical noise.

“I could remove it in a couple days, a week, once she’s less likely to remember exactly which pictures she posted,” Natasha concedes, exchanging a glance with Wanda. 

“Okay,” says Steve. The panic knotting up his stomach eases a little. He can feel Bucky still on alert next to him, his body keyed into Steve’s, reading Steve’s stress as his own.

Natasha hands Wanda her phone back, and Lucky ambles over to sniff hopefully at Steve’s discarded pizza slice. Steve lets him have it.

“That reminds me,” Clint says. “Nat and I are gonna be gone for a couple months. Go on a international Bus tour, if you catch my meaning.”

They’ll be with Coulson. Interesting. Steve hasn’t spoken to Coulson since Fury told them all he was alive just after the Ultron mess. He didn’t realize Clint and Nat had either. He’s betting that conversation didn’t go so smooth.

“I catch your meaning,” he replies.

“So I was hoping you three would keep an eye on the kid here while I’m gone,” Clint says. “Nothing big. Just check in once in a while. You know.”

“I don’t need supervision,” Wanda says, prickly.

“You hear me asking Mom to give you a bedtime?” Clint replies. “Everybody needs some people looking out for them after a couple of years like you’ve had.”

“He’s right,” Sam says. “And I’d say the same thing if you were forty years old.”

Wanda eases a little.

“Let’s get coffee—maybe Tuesday? When do you have class?” Steve says.

“Tuesday morning works,” Wanda says. “I get breakfast before class.”

“Tuesday it is,” Steve says.

* * *

**nyctaloper:** Looooooooook at this fucking picture [2122937484.jpg]

 **smolhellion:** WHAT where did you get that???

 **smolhellion:** LOPER. LOPER, COME IN LOPER.

 **smolhellion:** is that a manip???

 **nyctaloper:** Nope.

 **smolhellion:** HONY pic???? did they fucking come out? holy shit

 **nyctaloper:** Sry, walking and messaging

 **nyctaloper:** It’s from the instagram of an acquaintance in Brooklyn. You know my insta is half aesthetic and half fandom

 **nyctaloper:** They don’t usually mix like this lol

 **smolhellion:** whatttt???

 **nyctaloper:** I don’t think OP has any idea who they are, there’s no mention of Cap etc.

 **smolhellion:** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **nyctaloper:** I know, I’m kind of in shock tbh

 **nyctaloper:** Like, of course they’re together

 **nyctaloper:** But also, holy fuck

 **smolhellion:** HOLY FUCK???

 **smolhellion:** i cannot find it for the life of me, help a girl out

 **nyctaloper:** Oh yeah the whole acct’s private

 **smolhellion:** i am literally so grateful that we are friends rn

 **smolhellion:** i will feast my eyes upon this for yrs

 **nyctaloper:** Sameee

 **smolhellion:** you posted it yet???

 **nyctaloper:** Nah. Feels skeevy to repost from a private acct

 **smolhellion:** think of the followers tho 

**smolhellion:** like i’m kidding but i’m also slightly not kidding???

 **nyctaloper:** Believe me, I know hahaha

 **nyctaloper:** Looks like it might be candid etc., though. I’m just gonna hold onto it.

 **smolhellion:** and feast your eyes upon it every minute of every day

 **nyctaloper:** Yeah. Deeefinitely gonna do that.

* * *

“So, you think we made a good impression?” Bucky calls, locking the door behind him as he comes through. He hooks the keyring over their coat hook and kicks off his books. The cat runs right up to him and immediately runs away again. Weirdo. 

Bucky tucks the quart of milk and carton of eggs into the fridge and heads into their bedroom.

Steve’s frowning at the tablet, which means he’s probably catching up on Hill’s daily security briefing. But he’s also sprawled in their bed wearing only briefs in deference to the heat, and that’s invitation enough for Bucky.

He flicks off the lights in the kitchen and closes the door to the bedroom so the cat won’t interrupt. Then, rather than slipping into his side of the bed, he straddles Steve’s outstretched legs.

Steve hums. “Finishing up,” he murmurs.

“I know, darlin’,” Bucky replies. “You do that.”

He strips off his shirt. Steve sets the tablet aside.

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that,” Steve says, and knuckles him down for a kiss.

“I’m gonna be like that,” Bucky groans. The heat makes Steve pink all over. Just rocking his hips makes Steve mewl. Damn right he’s gonna take advantage.

Bucky starts biting his throat. “Right into it then?” Steve rasps. Bucky’s hands tease at the line of Steve’s briefs, making Steve’s breath stutter.

Bucky snorts. “Like this whole damn night wasn’t foreplay,” he replies. “I coulda put you in that stairwell, got on my knees, and got you off, nobody the wiser, cause it would’ve taken about twenty seconds. Don’t think I didn’t think about it.”

The big muscles in Steve’s thighs bunch up as his hips give an involuntary jolt.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Bucky’s chuckling. “Christ. If fucking our way across the European theater didn’t get it outta your system, I guess nothing will.”

Steve snorts, pushes at him. “Jeez, way to kill the mood.”

Bucky tilts his head a little.

Uh oh.

“Kill the mood? You don’t like rememberin’ me getting on my knees for you, with our men about twenty feet away? Trying to stay quiet?”

Steve’s getting redder.

Bucky smirks. Gets his lips right up against Steve’s throat. “How about the pup tent, huh? You lay facedown, I’d roll right on top, not an inch of room anywhere, just get in you, sweetheart, just work my way in, put my sleeve in your mouth, bite at the back of your neck? You don’t like rememberin’ that?”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, and hooks his ankles together behind Bucky’s back.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bucky chuckles, rubbing them together, riding the hard line of Steve’s cock through his briefs and Bucky’s jeans.

“Get your—fuckin’ pants off, Barnes—“ Steve manages between big pants of air.

“Oh, you want something?” Bucky replies. But he’s already kneeling up, shuffling the rest of his clothes off.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, tossing his own briefs unerringly into the laundry hamper in their closet. “Yeah. Get back down here.”

“Okay,” Bucky replies. He rolls back down on top of him, hooks his arms around Steve’s back, wraps them up as tight as he can. Steve rehooks his ankles. Just heat and sweat and friction—Steve’s cock, his belly, the hard groove of his hip. Bucky is—fuck—he is personally not even sure which limbs are his anymore.

Except the goddamn robot arm. That one he’s pretty sure about.

The robot arm is probably uncomfortable under Steve’s back. Bucky’s probably gonna get too hot, and the plates are gonna open up to cool off, and they’re gonna pinch Steve when they close again. 

Ugh, fuck, leave it to the robot arm to sour a whole position for him.

He grumbles incoherently, rolls off but holds onto Steve, keeps him right up against his skin, gets him on top.

“Gonna make me do the work?” Steve asks, pushing up a little to look down at Bucky.

And—yeah, Bucky’s not mad about anything right now. That’s a goddamn view.

“Yeah, baby. You take what you like,” Bucky replies, tracing his flesh hand over Steve’s big thigh, around the base of his cock.

Of course Steve, being Steve, acts like that’s a challenge. He goes straight for the lube in the nightstand. Bucky nearly rolls his eyes—he’d have been perfectly happy getting off the way they were getting off before, after the eight hours of foreplay, thank you very much. 

Then again, if Stevie wants to ride him, he’s not gonna complain. Not a peep.

He wraps a hand around his cock so he doesn’t actually go crazy watching Steve slick himself up in the most perfunctory way Bucky’ll let him get away with. Steve’s impatient as hell, likes the stretch of a cock in him, likes a little bite of discomfort, even, and Bucky respects all that, but he isn’t about to injure him with his dick.

He’s almost positive Hydra didn’t force him to rape anybody, so by his estimation his dick is just about the only body part he’s got left that he hasn’t used to inflict pain. He’d like to keep it that way.

Steve, bless him, breaks him out of that maudlin spiral by sinking down on him, hot and wet and tight as anything. Bucky can barely stay still. Steve’s going a goddamn centimeter at a time, and, fuck, sure, hard and fast does it for Bucky, but there’s something about Steve’s face when he’s getting exactly what he wanted—

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “That’s pretty, doll. Take it so good. Look at you, sweetheart, look at you take that—“

“Buck—“ Steve gasps, his head tipping back as all his muscles go lax.

“Just keep taking it, sweetheart—you get what you wanted, huh? That what you wanted?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve answers, finally sinking to the base of him. “Yeah—fuck, please fuck me—“

“Uh huh,” Bucky replies, rocking into him deep, holding him down tight, not letting him move, just rubbing up inside Steve right where he likes it. “Yeah, that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah—Bucky—yes,” Steve says, and shudders, and comes in slow pulses all over Bucky’s belly.

“That’s what you wanted,” Bucky repeats, mindlessly, and too soon he’s spilling into Steve. “God, baby, that’s good.”

Steve leans down onto one elbow, kisses him through it. His other hand is busy rubbing his come into Bucky’s skin. Bucky gives a contented hum.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Steve replies, and kisses him, and Bucky knows he means the whole thing, the whole sweep of it: the sex and the heat outside and their dumb cat scratching at the bedroom door and the smell of pot and coffee wafting in through the window and the rooftop party and the fresh mint that cost four dollars. The whole damn thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's fic amnesty time!
> 
> I worked on this series more or less consistently from July 2016 through July 2017. Then I got much more heavily involved in immigrant justice activist work, and my writing for fun dropped off. 
> 
> At first, I thought I'd wait it out, pick it up again properly when things were less busy. Then I considered posting chapters as I wrote them to try to keep my engagement up. Now that it's July 2018, I think I've accepted that I'm probably not coming back to this fic. But I still really like a lot of what I have, so I'm posting it as a three-part series. 
> 
> Slices of life with some good arcs and some loose ends.


End file.
